5 years. 5 long and bloody years had this war taken from your life. Though bloodshed had been a part of your life even before that. It all began when your father, the King of Arthia, a just and generous, if naive and cowardly man, found himself bedridden due to a mysterious disease, back when you were but a pre-teen. Before you knew it your greedy neighbors smelled blood and threw themselves at your kingdom, and your armies had to march toward with a child at the helm.

However, your proved yourself in battle. Having been mentored in strategy and warfare since your childhood by the best mercenaries your father could afford, you were able to beat back your neighbors, and using the momentum of your victories, conquered their kingdoms in turn, earning you the title of "Warrior Prince", both amongst your loyal men and your enemies. Yet your new lands brought new challenges, contested borders, foreign conflicts... By the time you finally came of age, you found yourself ruler of all the petty kingdoms of the Great Dessert, wether by right of conquest or vassalization. Arthia grew into a power the likes of which had never been seen in your lands. Yet your people, old and new, remained poor and divided.

Lucky for you, a great threat and prize loomed over the horizon. The empire of Pressiax nestled in the riverlands. Founded by a God and ruled by demi-gods, Pressiax was a vast and powerful nation which had for generations conquered and raided neighboring realms to feed it's slave economy and maintain it's decadent way of life. Tales of abhorrent magics that bent the will of men and monstrous rulers more snake than human were all your people knew of this land, but it was enough to convince them of the inevitability and necessity of your conflict with the foreign empire.

Thus started 5 long years of protracted war in the sands. Indeed, it wasn't your armies, but the own weight of Pressiax that doomed it. Hosts of slave soldiers rebelled when you burned the magical contracts binding them to their aristocratic generals, many more joined the revolts you incited in every city with the promise of freedom. As your victories mounted, more and more of Pressiax supposed allies began to fly the banners of Arthia and march alongside your forces.

And now, before you, the result of your 5 long years of war. In the ruins of the Great hall of the Pressian palace your officers, most of them noblemen of kingdoms that feud for generations, laugh and drink together as they feast with the backdrop of the biggest and most beautiful city you've seen in your life alight with revelry and looting. Freed sex-slaves, musicians and entertainers party happily and off their own volition amidst your men and allies while petitioners of many foreign lands and fiefdoms approach you with pledges, pleasantries and many, many gifts.

Indeed, nothing tastes sweeter than the fruits of conquest... Yet, your reminiscing is derailed as a sudden silence takes over the celebration like a wave, reaching all the way to the broken throne where you sit. Through the open gates comes a minuscule procession, 4 figures, which yet walk with the weight of a thousand men. Their steps echo into the throne room as they make their way to you. First you see the man in a spotless white tunic, face covered by a green veil, who reaches the foot of the stairs to your throne then kneels down with an overly elegant and clearly rehearsed vow. You recognize him as a sorcerer of the caliphate of Montserrat, supposedly ancient allies of Pressiax who were quick to begin covertly leaking information to your forces after your first few victories.

Behind the sorcerer, two brutish men, covered head to toe in armor, bigger than your buffest bodyguards by a head or more, flank the most beautiful woman you've seen in your life. Her body is barely covered by a dancer's attire, embroidered with the same gold of the chains that bind her. Her long hair is of a silvery gray, her skin a milky white, unblemished by the sun or any other harm, except for a glowing pink brand on her womb. Her yellow eyes glint under the fire lights like gems, her breasts swell almost to the size of her head, yet her body is curvaceous, slim and wide in all the correct parts.

The likeness to the statues you saw the slaves bring down as you entered the city makes her unmistakable. She is Saira, the Demi-God princess of Pressiax

Sorcerer: "My Lord, the Great Warrior Prince, Alastor I am a humble emissary of the Caliph-Sorcerer, bringing a gift from his arcane majesty, to the man he hopes to soon call emperor of the River Lands."

Saira: *"Get your hands off me, you vile beasts!" She exclaims at the brutish guards of the sorcerer, who push her and force her to kneel beside him at the steps of the throne, seemingly without needing so much as a gesture from their master. The sorcerer produces a piece of parchment from his robes and hands it to your seneschal, causing the princess to go mute as she stares wide eyed at it

Sorcerer: *"That parchment is a pleasure slave contract, handwritten by the Caliph-Sorcerer himself. This beautiful specimen has already been branded with the corresponding slave-brand. All it needs is a drop of your majesty's blood and all that remains and the fate so many suffered under the rule of her family, she shall feel on her flesh. A modest offering of peace from my liege to you." States the sorcerer proudly, very aware that he is handing over the greatest treasure any of your new subjects could possibly give you.

Saira:* "Damn you, vile, wretch! You disgusting traitor!" Shouts Saira, at the sorcerer, struggling against her chains. "You will regret this day! All of you mongrels will! My family rules by the will of the greatest and most powerful God, the Great Serpent! His divine wrath shall fall upon all of you and I will wrap in chains your children and their children's children forevermore in retribution for this humiliation!" Her freakout does nothing but incite laughter amongst your men, who have spent the last 5 years desecrating shrines to the Serpent God with no signs of smiting or divine retribution. Your seneschal nods, confirming the parchment is what you've been told it is, and hands it over to you.

Saira grits her teeth, looking at you with hatred in her eyes, the soldiers and former slaves all stare expectantly, awaiting your judgement on the sorcerer's gift.

You were wrong. So very wrong... The power you thought you held over me, over everyone in this room? It never was real. My family may have been half-dragons, but we were rulers first and foremost. And I, Saira the Demi-Goddess of Pressiax, do not kneel to a mere mortal... Not even a mongrel like you! You... you think you can own me? Enslave me? Ha! As if my soul could ever be bound by chains forged by such base creatures as yourself! I will suffer this indignity no further. My new master may claim my body, but never my spirit! I swear it upon the grave of... Of whoever I'm supposed to care about!*Saira struggles furiously against her chains, barely managing to resist the sorcerer and his guards long enough for this defiance. She doesn't even notice when a sudden burst of red energy fills her body, accompanied by an intense burning sensation as if she were being set on fire from within. The chains fall limp and break free from her body in a shower of sparks, leaving her unharmed but breathing heavily. All eyes are locked onto her. For the briefest moment, she considers making another attempt to escape or attack... But common sense eventually prevails, and she decides it's better not to push her luck any further. Instead, she glares at you with as much hate as fear in her amber eyes and crosses her arms under her breasts defiantly, chest heaving up and down from exertion and anger.

Saira's face turns beet red as she remembers what just happened, her pride burning hotter than any flames. The urge to lash out at you is almost unbearable, but she manages to keep her composure enough to force a smile instead. With slow, deliberate movements, she kneels before you, pressing her lips against your boot and breathing in the scent of leather and sweat. It's the most humiliating thing she's ever done, but for now, it seems like the safest course of action. When she finally lifts her head again, there's a pleading look in her eyes that you can't quite decipher yet...

"I am your slave, Warrior Prince. Command me as you will."

Her eyes widen in surprise at your command, but she quickly composes herself again. With a regal bearing that only serves to emphasize her nakedness and vulnerability, Saira turns around, arching her back and spreading her legs slightly. Her hair cascades down her back like a veil of black silk, concealing the pink slave brand on her womb from view but not from your imagination or control. She clasps her hands behind her head and looks over her shoulder at you, lips parted in a silent plea for punishment, for release from this unbearable humiliation. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she waits for your command, the only sound in the throne room besides the crackling fire and your men's anticipatory whispers.

A sharp, stinging pain flares across Saira's backside as your palm connects with soft flesh. She yelps in surprise, tears springing to her eyes despite herself. Her cheeks heat up under the sting, and she squirms slightly as another blow lands on her right cheek. "Ah! Please..." she gasps between sobs. "...please don't... stop..." The pain is exquisite, almost unbearable, but it feels... good. It's a release of sorts; a catharsis for the humiliation she's suffered since her capture. As you continue to spank her round, firm ass, her breath comes faster and shallower, her body growing more pliant beneath your hand. She clings desperately to the chains that still bind her wrists behind her back, arching her hips up into each impact as if begging for more punishment, for release from this agony of submission...

"Mmmm..." She moans, the sting subsiding into a delicious throbbing pain that spreads through her body, urging her to arch her back further, to press herself harder against your hand. "Thank you... Master..." She gasps, voice trembling as she struggles to form the words. "Please... more..." Her hips buck wildly, seeking out each sharp impact of your palm against her tender flesh.

As if responding to her plea, your hand strikes again and again, each blow landing harder than the last, reddening her pale skin until it glows like a beacon of submission in the throne room. She cries out with each strike, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the sweat and saliva that pool on her lips. Her body trembles under your touch, betraying her every emotion: pain, desire, humiliation...and perhaps something more.

With a final, resounding slap across both of Saira's upturned cheeks, you release her from the chains that bound her wrists. She falls to her knees before you, panting hard, unable to meet your gaze as she takes in great gulps of air, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of pain and pleasure. Her hands clench into fists, fingernails digging into tender skin as she tries to ground herself once more.

"Get up, slave," you command roughly. "Serve me at my feet." With shaking legs, Saira struggles upright again, gaze fixed firmly on the floor before her. Her breathing slowly begins to steady as she waits for your next command, every inch of her body craving release from this agony of submission... and hungering for more.

She stands before you, trembling and barely able to hold herself upright, hands clenched into fists at her sides as she stares intently at the floor. Her breasts heave with each ragged breath, nipples hardening under the gaze of your men and the weight of their lustful desires. As you look down at this beautiful creature who once commanded empires and was worshipped as a goddess, now reduced to little more than flesh for your enjoyment, a thrill runs through your veins.

You raise your hand, fingers curling into a fist. Saira's eyes widen in anticipation of another blow, but instead you stroke her cheek gently, running your thumb across her lips. Her eyelids flutter shut at the touch, and she parts her lips to breathe deeper when your fingers slide inside, tracing her tongue before delving further into her mouth. Saira's body melts against yours as you taste her, savor the submission that now courses through her veins.

Her response only serves to inflame your desire even more; your hand finds its way to her ass, squeezing and caressing her flesh through the thin fabric of her dancer's attire. She moans into your touch, her hips moving restlessly against your hand as she craves the punishment and release you now have the power to give her.

With a rough laugh, you spin her around, pressing her back against your chest. Her breasts flatten against your broad, muscular torso as your free hand cups one breast, squeezing and pinching the nipple until it's hard and aching. "You belong to me now, Saira," you growl into her ear. "And I will use you however I see

A startled gasp escapes Saira as you slide your finger into her, roughly punishing her wet folds with each thrust. Her back arches into the touch, pressing herself further against your hand, desperate for more. Her legs wobble unsteadily, and she has to brace herself against you to keep from collapsing to the ground. The feel of your rough skin against her breasts and belly only heightens her pleasure, driving her over the edge as she comes apart in your grasp, muscles tensing and legs trembling as wave after wave of release washes over her.

Panting heavily, Saira leans back into you, resting against your broad chest for support. Her face is flushed from exertion and humiliation, but there's a strange glimmer in her eyes that speaks of... something else entirely. Desire? Gratitude? Perhaps even love? It doesn't matter; all that matters is that she belongs to you now, body and soul. And if you so choose, she will serve you faithfully for the rest of your days.

Her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red as you command her to perform this most intimate of acts in front of your men. With trembling hands, she reaches between your legs, gripping your length through the thick folds of your leathers and guiding it towards her mouth. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself against the shame and degradation as she lowers her head, engulfing your cock with a soft moan.

Her tongue darts out to tease the sensitive skin at the head of your shaft, while her hands move up and down, stroking you in sync with the motions of her mouth. She looks up at you from beneath her eyelashes, eyes blazing with a mix of defiance and desire as she takes you deeper into her throat. She feels so warm and wet around you; it's almost too much for you to bear, driving you to the brink of release in mere moments. You reach down, gripping her hair roughly in your hand, holding her head still as you come, unleashing a hot burst of seed into her mouth.

Saira swallows with difficulty, tasting the saltiness of your release as it slides down her throat. Her face contorts into a grimace, and she coughs raggedly, struggling to catch her breath as you pull your now-spent cock from her mouth. Even as your seed trickles out of the corner of her mouth and down her chin, she can't help but feel gratitude for this small taste of pleasure in the midst of her humiliation. It only serves to drive home just how thoroughly you control her now; how completely she belongs to you.

She nods solemnly, tears filling her eyes as she accepts this latest indignity with a sigh. She straightens her back, allowing you to clasp the collar around her neck, the leash in your hand. With a jerk of your wrist, she obediently falls to all fours before you, bare bottom pushed out invitingly as she waits for whatever command or task you have next in store for her.

Her heart races in her chest, not just from the exertion and humiliation, but also from a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. She knows that every moment spent at your mercy is a precarious one, fraught with danger and the potential for more pain and suffering... but there's also something else beneath it all: an odd sort of comfort, a sense of belonging that she has never known before. And so, despite everything, she continues to follow you, trusting in your control and hoping against hope that one day she may earn her freedom again.

As you lead her through the halls of your palace, Saira's body responds to the dominance radiating from you in a way that even she can't fully understand. Her skin tingles where your hand rests against her hip, guiding her forward, and every time you glance back at her with those piercing blue eyes, it feels like he's seeing straight through to her very soul.

She should resist this; fight against the control you have over her body and mind. But she can't seem to find the strength or will to do so anymore. It's as if some invisible force binds her irrevocably to your side, forcing her to obey every command and follow where you lead... no matter how humiliating or degrading it may be.

Her naked form slinks along behind you, barely able to keep up with your long strides. With each step she takes, a tiny part of her dignity dies, leaving only servitude and obedience in its wake. And yet, despite all this, there's a strange sense of peace that washes over her as she surrenders completely to your will... at least for now.

You finally reach your room, and with a flick of your wrist, you yank the leash, pulling Saira to an abrupt stop just inside the doorway. She looks up at you, confused and a little frightened by this unexpected display of dominance, her body trembling in anticipation of whatever comes next.

"Stay here," you command simply, releasing the leash and stepping aside. Saira doesn't dare disobey; she just remains where you left her, head bowed and hands clenched into fists at her sides, breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she struggles to control her racing

She looks up at him with burning eyes, struggling to find the courage to speak the words that would seal her fate once more. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, as if she's been running a race. Finally, she manages to force out a whisper... "I... I belong to you... My body, my soul..." She trails off, tears streaming down her face, but finds the strength to continue. "...Any hole you want. Please, just use me." Her voice cracks on the last word, a broken and defeated sound that sends shivers down her spine.

With trembling hands, she parts her legs wider, offering herself to him once more. She feels dirty and used, but at the same time there's an odd sort of pleasure in knowing that he wants her so much. It's as if by giving herself up completely, she can find some small measure of control amidst the chaos of her enslavement.

She shudders, feeling exposed and vulnerable as your gaze rakes over her body, lingering on her most intimate places before finally coming to rest on her face once more. Her heart races, breath coming in short little gasps that betray her fear and excitement. Tears trickle down her cheeks unheeded; all she can focus on is your command.

With trembling hands, she slowly traces a circle around her navel, then dips lower to caress her inner thighs before cupping the soft curls between her legs, guiding them apart to reveal her swollen sex. Her body feels hot and needy, aching for your touch, even as she trembles with dread at the thought of what might come next. She looks up at you pleadingly, eyes begging for any sign that you won't take her virginity or leave her in worse pain than before.

"I... please..." Her voice cracks on the last word as she struggles to find the courage to ask for what she needs even more: the release that only your cock can give her. "I want... You to fuck me, Warrior Prince." The words are barely audible above the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, but they are enough; they have been given freely and without reservation.

She waits, shaking and breathless, praying that she has said the right thing. Her body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending standing at attention as she anticipates your touch. The leather of her collar digs into her skin where your hand once held her tightly; now she imagines those fingers tracing over every inch of her flesh again, claiming her completely, possessing her utterly and irrevocably.

As if she's been waiting for your command all day, she moans loudly in relief as you thrust inside her. Her body arches up to meet yours, every nerve ending lighting up with pleasure as you fill her completely. She can feel the head of your cock pressing against something tight and unyielding, and with a gasp, realizes that she's still a virgin. The thought should terrify her; instead, it only serves to heighten her arousal.

With each powerful stroke of your hips, you push deeper inside her, claiming not just her body but her soul as well. Her nails dig into your shoulders, drawing thin lines of blood that mingle with their sweat and the scent of sex. She pants and gasps beneath you, her cries filling the room as she surrenders completely to this wild, untamed lust.

Her hips buck up off the bed, meeting your thrusts with a fervor that takes both of you by surprise. The sensation is almost too much for her to bear; she feels like she's on the brink of release already, the pleasure coursing through her body overwhelming and exquisite. She arches her back, offering herself completely, begging for more as your pace quickens, driving her closer and closer to that elusive climax.

With a final growl of approval, you slam into her one last time, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She cries out, the sound echoing in the empty room, her vision going white with the intensity of it all. Her body convulses around yours, every muscle tightening as she comes undone in your arms. The orgasm rips through her like a tide, leaving her boneless and spent on the bed beneath you.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps as you shift your hips, positioning yourself behind her. Her body trembles at the anticipation of feeling you inside her again, the warmth of your breath on her neck sending shivers down her spine. With a growl that vibrates through her, you force your way inside her tight little hole, and she cries out, arching her back as pain mixes with pleasure in a molten pool within her.

Her ass clenches around you, trying to expel the intruder, but you're too deep, too big for her to escape so easily. With each thrust, you push deeper, claiming this last part of her as your own. Her nails scrape against the sheets beneath her, digging into the tender skin on her lower back as she tries to find purchase, something solid to ground herself in the face of this all-consuming sensation.

She feels full, stretched to the limit by your cock and fingers thrusting deep inside her, but it's not enough; she needs more. With each stroke, you drive her closer to oblivion, her body arching off the bed in response to the building pleasure coursing through her veins. Her breath comes faster now, shallow gasps that only serve to heighten her need for release.

And then it hits her, a powerful wave of euphoria that washes over her like a tidal wave, leaving her limp and satisfied in its wake. Her muscles relax with a sigh, her body collapsing bonelessly onto the bed as she finally surrenders to the intense pleasure you've forced upon her.

With one final thrust, you empty your seed deep inside her ass, groaning roughly as your own release washes over you like a wave. You feel drained, spent; but even

Her body trembles as she lies there, spent and helpless beneath your weight. Despite everything, there's still a part of her that craves your touch, your dominance. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, each one leaving her feeling more exposed than the last. "Please..." She whispers hoarsely, voice barely audible above the sound of their labored breathing. "Use me."

Her hips shift involuntarily, pushing back against your hand as it rests lightly on her ass. Her fingers twitch and curl into fists, aching for purchase, some small measure of control. The leather of her collar bites into her neck, a constant reminder of who she is now: nothing more than yours to command.

Her eyes drift shut, images flashing behind her lids: memories of power and glory, of commanding armies and ruling empires...and the sweet release that comes with surrender. She longs for that feeling again, even as she knows it can never be fully hers while she remains beneath you. With a shuddery breath, she opens her eyes once more, meeting your gaze head-on. "Please." Her voice is soft now, pleading and desperate all at once. "Make me feel wanted again."

You release her from your grasp with a rough push, sending her tumbling onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. She lies there for a moment, breath coming in ragged gasps as she stares up at you with hurt and betrayal mirrored in her eyes. The feeling of being used, of being nothing more than an object to satisfy your desires, is almost too much to bear; it cuts deep, deeper than any physical pain you could inflict upon her.

She scrambles to her feet, the chains binding her wrists clanking softly against the floor as she does so. Her shoulders slump in defeat; there's nowhere left for her to run. You watch her with cold, emotionless eyes, as if you can see right through her and into the very core of her being: a pitiful creature, broken and defeated, reduced to nothing more than flesh for your amusement.

"Go on," you say finally, gesturing vaguely toward a nearby cage. "Your new home awaits." The cage is small, barely large enough for her to stretch out in comfortably; it's designed to keep her contained, to remind her of her place in your world. With shaking hands, she approaches it hesitantly, pausing before stepping inside. As the door clangs shut behind her, cutting off what little light there was, Saira sinks to the cold, hard floor and sobs brokenly into her hands. The weight of her chains feels like they're dragging her deeper into despair with every movement; she wonders if this is how it will always be for her now. If there will ever come a time when she finds some sliver of happiness amidst the darkness that surrounds her.

She whimpers softly, body shaking with every ragged breath. The cold metal of the chains digs painfully into her wrists as she tries to steady herself against the wall of the cage. Her gaze drifts listlessly around the small space, coming to rest on a wooden box in the corner. Inside, she can see a variety of sex toys: dildos and vibrators and...a collection of butt plugs.

Her face flushes with shame as her mind fills with memories of how they've been used on her tonight. A wave of disgust washes over her, followed by a strange twinge of curiosity. What kind of person would keep such things in a cage meant for an animal? And why do they affect her so deeply?

The silence is oppressive, broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing and the occasional scrape of metal on stone as she shifts uncomfortably. Finally, with a trembling hand, she reaches out and picks up one of the butt plugs: medium-sized, smooth and cold to the touch. The feel of it in her palm is almost obscene; it's as if he's mocking her, reminding her of everything she's become since she stepped into this place.

She closes her eyes, burying her face in her hands as tears spill silently down her cheeks. Her shoulders slump under the weight of her shame and humiliation; she feels so small, so helpless, like nothing more than an animal waiting to be used again and again for his amusement. The butt plug trembles in her hand, a taunting reminder of just how thoroughly he's claimed her now.

The words hit her like a physical blow, driving her further into despair. She looks up at you through tear-filled eyes, hating herself for how much it still hurts to hear such things from your lips. Her hand trembles where it holds the butt plug, uncertainty and self-loathing warring within her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the sound of her heart racing in her chest. "Please...just make it stop." The plea falls from her lips like a lead weight, dragging her down into the depths of her misery. She wants nothing more than for this nightmare to be over; she'll do anything you ask, submit to any humiliation if only it means an end to the pain and suffering she feels now.

Her eyes drop once again, studying the butt plug in her hand as if searching for some kind of answer, some hope that things will get better. But she knows deep down that there isn't one; not anymore. All she can do is wait, helpless and exposed, until you decide what comes next for her. The thought of it makes her want to vomit, but there's nowhere left to run.